


no distraction (can i be with you?)

by zachas



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2017-2018 NHL Season, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, except rico's still on the devils bc i uhhhh said so, on steve's end at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 02:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14439861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zachas/pseuds/zachas
Summary: The team this year is pretty different. They’ve got Will from free agency, and Nico, the first overall pick who’s been looking just as good as promised, and Jesper, who’s been a surprise to pretty much everyone, and —“Morning Woody,” Steve yawns, climbing into the passenger seat.“Morning Steve-o,” Miles says, smiling.(And they’ve got Steve, too, which is all that really matters.)Or: Miles is kind of a dumbass. Which is no different than usual, really.





	no distraction (can i be with you?)

**Author's Note:**

> some background on steve/miles, if u don't know much about them: they were teammates at bc! they signed their contracts on the same day actually and made their nhl debuts on the next day! [here's](https://www.nhl.com/devils/video/devils-all-access-santini--wood/t-277437418/c-49452403) a video of them talking about how having each other helped them adjust to the nhl. also [here's](http://traviszajac.tumblr.com/post/172592999358/demonseverson-before-they-skate-in-the-calder-cup) a video of steve saying miles is pretty enough to win the bachelorette, among other things. i love them so much.
> 
> honestly when i first started this i was like "oh this'll probably be a really quick fic, 2k at the most" and then i blinked and this happened. please leave a kudos/comment if u read!! i love this fic a lot and i love steve and miles a lot so it would mean a lot to me.
> 
> anyway, thanks to steph for reading this over for me and helping me put this together!!! ily steph you're the best
> 
> title from the song no distraction by beck

It’s October, and Miles makes the Devils roster out of training camp. Which is what he expected, but you can never be too sure.

The team this year is pretty different. They’ve got Will from free agency, and Nico, the first overall pick who’s been looking just as good as promised, and Jesper, who’s been a surprise to pretty much everyone, and —

“Morning Woody,” Steve yawns, climbing into the passenger seat.

“Morning Steve-o,” Miles says, smiling.

(And they’ve got Steve, too, which is all that really matters.)

“You excited for the season?” Miles says. 

“Shhhhhh, no having real conversations until it’s at least eight thirty,” Steve says, closing his eyes. And then, “Stop pouting at me.”

“I’m not pouting,” Miles protests. 

“Yes you are,” Steve says.

“How would you know? You’re not even looking at me.”

“I don’t need to look,” Steve says, his eyes still closed. He’s trying to keep his face serious but Miles can see the corners of his mouth curling up in a smile. 

Miles sticks his tongue out at him, then realizes he can’t see it.

“I just want you to know that I’m sticking my tongue out at you,” Miles says.

Steve laughs. “Good to know.”

Miles leaves Steve alone after that, just focuses on the road, but then —

“I’ve got a good feeling about this year,” Steve says.

“Yeah?” Miles grins.

“Yeah,” Steve replies with a grin of his own. “We’re gonna fucking kill it, Woody.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Miles says, and Steve laughs.

\---

Miles is a healthy scratch for the first game of the season, which is. Well, he can’t say he’s happy about it. He sits up in the pressbox with the reporters in his game day suit and tries not to fidget too much, which he’s mostly successful at, he thinks.

The Devils end up winning 4-1, though, which is pretty awesome. Miles can’t remember the last time they won their first game of the season.

He might have been scratched opening day, but Miles makes it back into the lineup soon enough, and the Devils are winning, and winning, and they keep on winning. The rookies are outstanding and Taylor’s a fucking beast on the ice, has got a determined glint in his eyes he didn’t have last season, and Miles keeps on waiting for it all to stop, for that inevitable slide back down to bottom of the standings where they’re supposed to be. But it’s November now, and the Devils are sitting comfortably at the top of the Metro, and it feels like a fucking revelation.

Miles gets on the plane, ruffles Nico’s hair as he walks down the aisle, tries to do the same to Pavs but he swats Miles’ arm away before he has the chance, and slides into the seat next to Steve.

“Hey,” Steve says. “You brought your headphone splitter, right?”

“Yup,” Miles says, pulling it out of his pocket. 

“Cool,” says Steve. “Wanna watch Game of Thrones? I downloaded the newest season on my laptop last night.”

“Yeah, sure,” Miles says. “I hope that badass dragon lady beats some more people up this time.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Of course Dany’s your favorite.”

“She’s hot and she’s got fucking dragons, bro! Isn’t she everyone’s favorite?” 

After a while, the plane starts taxiing and gets ready for take off, and Miles settles into his seat as Steve pulls out his laptop and queues up the first episode. Miles sticks his headphones into the headphone splitter and rests his head on Steve’s shoulder to watch. If Miles is being honest, he lost track of all the characters and the different plot lines in Game of Thrones a long, long time ago, but Steve seems pretty invested in it, and it’s not like Miles has that much else to do on plane rides anyway, so.

Miles tries his best to pay attention, but somewhere around the second episode his eyes start to droop, and —

“Hey,” Steve says, nudging Miles’ arm. “We’re landing soon.”

“Guh,” Miles says. He picks his face up from where it’d been pressing into Steve’s sleeve and wipes his mouth. “Shit, sorry, I might’ve drooled on you a little.”

“Eh, it’s whatever,” Steve says.

“Sorry I fell asleep,” Miles says. “You could have woken me up.”

Steve laughs. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

Miles pokes him. “You’re weird,” he says.

Steve pokes him back. “You’re weirder.”

Miles pokes him again. “Nuh uh.”

“Yuh huh.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Yuh huh.”

Thankfully, the plane lands before anyone can chirp them for arguing like third graders.

\---

The Devils fucking crush the Blackhawks, 7-5, and Miles gets a fucking hat trick. His first NHL hat trick, actually. Holy fuck. And yeah, all the goals had been scrambly, bang-in goals he’d put in while standing right at the front of the net, but hey, a hatty’s a fucking hatty, right?

After he’d scored his third goal, Steve had slammed into him from behind, almost toppling him over. “Fuck yeah, Woody!” he’d screamed right in Miles’ ear. “What a fucking stud!”

Miles is still riding the high of the win and his hat trick when they’re stepping off the ice, and he yells, “Let’s fucking go, boys!” as they file into the locker room.

“Fucking right!” Miles hears Blake shouting behind him. 

Miles hurries to get undressed and into the showers as quickly as possible. When he gets back, though, he spots Keith sitting in his stall, frowning down at his phone, still half dressed, so Miles calls, “You good, Kinker?” from across the room. 

“You remember what your emoji is, Woody?” Keith asks, not looking up from his phone. 

“Dude, do I look like I remember things?” Miles says.

Keith laughs at that. “I thought you went to college,” he chirps. “Aren’t you supposed to be smart?”

Steve snorts loudly at that. “Have you met him?”

“Hey!” Miles protests. He shoves him, and Steve shoves him back, and it devolves into an impromptu shoving match until Hynes comes into the locker room for his usual post game talk.

 

Later, on the plane ride back, Steve puts on Game of Thrones again, and Miles settles his head on his shoulder again and almost instantly falls asleep.

He can’t help it, okay? He gets pretty tired after games. Sue him.

At any rate, Steve doesn’t really seem to mind, so. 

\---

The Devils blaze a trail of win after win after win through November and December, and even though they drop their last two games heading into the new year, Miles isn’t concerned.

Rico hosts a little new year party at his place, complete with snacks and like, a shit ton of champagne because he’s the best and, well, you can’t really blame Miles for taking advantage of that, can you? 

Steve eyes Miles carefully as he goes for another glass. “I’m not driving you home if you get drunk, Woody,” he says. “Just letting you know.”

“I’m not gonna get drunk,” Miles says.

Pretty much the whole team is there and it’s all pretty chill. The rookies are together, like they always are, and Will and Jesper are arguing loudly about something dumb while Nico ignores them both and smiles down at his phone. They go at it for a bit, but the two of them drop the argument pretty quickly in favor of chirping Nico about whoever it is he’s texting so much and Pavs and Blake join them not long after. Travs and Andy are in the dining room, having a quiet, mature conversation together like the dads they are, while everyone else hangs in the living room, though Miles can’t seem to find Adam or Taylor anywhere.

And Miles — well, he might have been lying a little bit about not getting drunk.

There’s a minute left until midnight, and Miles flops onto the couch next to Steve and slings an arm around his shoulders. 

“Hey Woody,” Steve says, amused. 

“Hey Stevie,” Miles says, leaning his head into Steve’s shoulder. “Ready for the new year, bro? Man, I’m fucking _pumped.”_

“God, you’re so drunk,” Steve laughs. 

“‘M not drunk,” Miles says. 

Steve gives him the most unimpressed stare Miles has ever seen. 

“Maybe a little drunk,” Miles amends.

“Hey, hey, the countdown’s getting to ten!” someone says, and Miles turns his attention to the TV. When it gets to ten, they all start counting along, even Steve, who says something about how lame it is but still does it. 

“Five, four, three, two, one!”

Miles cheers. “Happy new year!” he yells. 

He turns to Steve for like, a fistbump or a high five or something, but like, his face is right there, and Miles doesn’t really think about it before he leans forward and plants a sloppy kiss onto Steve’s cheek.

“Happy new year, Steve-o,” he grins. 

“Oh my fucking god, Miles,” Steve says, turning bright red. “Did you really need to do that?”

“It’s not a new year without a new year kiss,” Miles says. 

“Jesus, you’re such a mess,” Steve says. 

“You love me,” Miles says.

Steve rolls his eyes. “If you say so.”

 

A few hours later, pretty much everyone’s heading out.

“Does Miles have a ride home?” Travs asks.

“I got him, don’t worry,” Steve says.

“I can drive,” Miles protests.

“That’s nice,” Steve says, leading him towards his car.

“I can,” he insists as he lets Steve steer him into the passenger seat.

“You’re not driving,” Steve says, reaching over to fasten Miles’ seatbelt for him.

“You said you weren’t going to drive me if I got drunk,” Miles says as Steve gets into the driver’s seat.

“You said you weren’t going to get drunk,” Steve points out.

“... Fair,” Miles says.

He lets his head fall back onto the headrest and watches Steve, eyes focused on the road, his face lit only by the passing streetlamps.

“What?” Steve asks after a minute.

“Nothing,” Miles says. “I’m just — I’m glad you’re here with me.” And he’s not sure what he means by that, if he means here in the car or here on the Devils, or just _here,_ but he knows it’s true.

Steve’s quiet for a moment. “We’re in this together, Miles,” he says. “Where else would I be?”

And Miles doesn’t really have an answer to that, so he just shrugs. “Dunno, but I’m glad.”

“I’m glad too,” Steve says.

Miles must fall asleep a little after that, because the next thing he remembers is Steve poking him awake. “Hey, we’re here,” he says.

Miles blinks at him, tries to shake the grogginess from his head. “Oh shit, thanks.” He starts to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“Are you gonna be okay on your own?” Steve asks. 

Miles considers it. He’s feeling a lot more clear headed now, so he should be fine, really, but somehow he wants to say, _come in with me,_ wants to say, _stay,_ and he actually does almost say it, feels the words teetering on the tip of his tongue, but instead —

“Yeah, I’m good,” Miles says. He gets out of the car and gives him a wave. “See you later, Steve.”

“See you,” Steve says, and Miles stands there and watches his car drive away until it’s swallowed up by the darkness.

\---

The new year comes, and with it comes loss after loss after loss, and here it is, here’s where the other shoe drops, because nothing that good can last forever, can it?

They only manage to squeak out two wins in all of January, and man, Miles thought that was bad, but then Cory gets hurt, and yeah, shit really fucking goes downhill after that. And it’s not that Keith’s a bad goalie, but… Cory’s Cory, and it really fucking sucks to not have him between the pipes.

Miles keeps his spot in the lineup, but Steve goes from being in and out to sitting in the press box every night, and he doesn’t say anything about it but Miles can see it weighing on his shoulders every time he greets them in the locker room in a fresh, crisp suit while the rest of them wear the sweat of yet another loss on their skin.

And Miles is worried for Steve too, but he figures, give it time. Hynes’ll slot him back in the lineup soon enough. He’d be stupid not to.

 

In the end, Miles gets the news from Twitter.

He doesn’t check Twitter much at all, but he does have notifications on for the official Devils Twitter account, so that’s how he sees it.

_OFFICIAL: The New Jersey Devils have assigned D Steven Santini to the @BingDevils._

Miles stares at the tweet. Rereads it a couple of times. Then he closes out of Twitter and calls him.

Steve picks up on the second ring. “Hey Miles,” he says. No Woody. Just Miles. He sounds tired.

“Hey Steve,” Miles says quietly.

“I guess you heard,” Steve says.

“Yeah,” Miles says. He bites his lip. “God, I can’t believe they would —”

“Stop it,” Steve says firmly. “I haven’t played in a game in fucking weeks, Miles, don’t pretend you didn’t know it was coming.”

“I don’t know, I thought — I don’t know what I thought,” Miles says. “God, this fucking sucks.”

“You’re telling me,” Steve says. “But hey, at least I’ll actually get to play in Bing. It’s fucking killing me to sit in the press box every damn game, Miles, I can’t stand it.” He sighs. “Maybe this’ll be good for me. Help my development and shit, I don’t know. I just want to play some fucking hockey, you know?”

“I know,” Miles says. “I know. It’s just — we were supposed to do this together. Weren’t we?” And he knows he’s being whiny now, being selfish, but he can’t help it. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. 

Miles closes his eyes. “It’s not your fault,” he says. 

“I know,” Steve says. “I’m still sorry.”

They’re both quiet for a few moments. Miles listens to Steve breathing on the other end of the call.

“Hey,” Miles says. “Promise you won’t watch any Game of Thrones without me?”

Steve laughs a little. “You don’t even watch it, Miles. You just fall asleep on me.”

“I know, but please?” Miles says. It’s super important to him, all of a sudden, and he can’t explain why. It just is.

“... Fine,” Steve says. “But you owe me one, Woody, I’m gonna fall so far behind.”

Miles rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “I’m sure you’ll live.”

\---

The Devils keep losing, but midway through February, they start picking up more wins. They’ve dropped to the second wildcard spot now, but they’re still in the playoff race, even with the Panthers coming up right behind them, which is kind of terrifying.

Miles sits next to Pavs on the plane, now. He’s a pretty chill seat partner, except that he snores a little when he naps.

They fly to Ottawa to play the Sens, and Miles falls asleep leaning on the plane window. Which is a lot less comfortable than Steve’s shoulder, but he makes do.

Miles turns on tweet notifications for the Binghamton Devils Twitter account and texts Steve every time he sees he scored. And also when he doesn’t score. He texts him a lot, actually.

Damon asks him once if he’s got a girlfriend.

“Nah,” Miles says, not looking up from his phone. _u have time to facetime later?_ he sends to Steve.

“Then who are you texting all the time?” Damon asks.

 _no :(_ Steve replies. _gotta pack. early bus ride tomorrow._

“It’s just Steve,” Miles says. He texts Steve a sad face. Steve sends one back.

“Oh,” says Damon. “I guess that makes sense. Tell him I said hi.”

“Okay,” Miles says. _sevs says hi,_ he writes.

_tell him i say hi back_

“He says hi back,” Miles says.

In general, things are okay. Pretty good, actually. They’re still fighting for the wildcard spot, and Miles is seized with the sudden fear that they’ll drop out, miss the playoffs at the very last minute, but even though Cory struggles in net when he comes back from his injury, Keith gets red hot at the same time, and they’re pulling out wins, and they’re pretty close wins, yeah, but still wins. Every game seems like a must-win, with the Panthers working relentlessly to try and edge them out of the playoffs, but the Devils aren’t having it.

The Binghamton Devils, meanwhile, are twenty seventh in the league.

“Man, I’m happy for you guys,” Steve says one night, his face dark and blurry on Miles’ phone. “Good luck in the playoffs.”

“Shh don’t say that yet!” Miles says. “You’re gonna jinx it!”

“Oh pffft,” Steve says. “Don’t even. You’re gonna make it.”

“You don’t know that,” Miles says. 

“Yeah I do,” Steve says with a certainty that surprises Miles, a little. “Told you before, I have a good feeling about this year. You’re gonna make it.”

“Hopefully,” Miles says.

Steve shifts on his bed a little and Miles can hear the rustling of the sheets crackle through his phone’s speakers.

“Wish I was up there with you guys,” Steve says softly.

Miles is quiet for a few moments. “Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”

\---

It’s April, and the Devils clinch a playoffs spot on their second to last game of the season.

“Kinker, you’re such a fucking beauty!” Miles yells as they walk into the locker room, and the rest of the team cheers in agreement.

Kinker grins, wide and pleased. “What about you, Woody? Scored the game winner, didn’t you?”

“Fuck yeah, Woody!” someone says.

Miles bites back a grin and goes to his stall to get changed. He gives his phone a cursory glance before going to take his pads off, but he gets distracted by a long list of text notifications, all from Steve.

_i forgot to tell u but i don’t have to do anything tonight so i’m gonna watch the game_

_good luck!! clinch that spot i know you guys can do it_

_oh my god kinker what a save_

_this is so stressful_

_this is more stressful than actually playing_

_fuuuuuck. fucking nylander_

_it’s always the swedes_

_PAVS_

_THAT SHOT!! UNREAL_

_all tied up let’s fucking goooo_

_MILES_

_YOU’RE SUCH A FUCKING STUD WOODY_

 

“The fuck are you smiling so hard about?” Blake asks him, leaning over his shoulder.

“What, a man can’t be happy after he clinches the playoffs?” Miles says.

Blake puts his hands up, laughing. “Alright, alright, fair.”

After Blake turns away, Miles texts Steve, _did u really text me the whole game??_

 _yeah,_ says Steve. 

_man i love u you’re the best,_ Miles replies.

 _haha seriously though congrats on the fucking playoffs dude what the fuck,_ Steve sends. 

_i still can’t believe it,_ Miles sends back. _we made the fucking PLAYOFFS man what the fuck_

 _see i told u,_ Steve says. _i told u that u guys were gonna make it. no need to worry_

 _yeah, guess you were right_ _for once in your life._

_oh haha woody ur so funny_

A pause. Miles bites his lip. 

_wish you were here, bro,_ Miles writes. 

_yeah. me too._

\---

The Devils fly to Tampa early in preparation for Game 1. There are Go Bolts banners greeting them as they get off the plane, which is kind of hilarious _._ No one is expecting them to win, but that’s okay. No one thought they’d make the playoffs either. 

It’s a few days later that the news comes out.

_OFFICIAL: The New Jersey Devils have recalled D Steven Santini and G @eddielack from the @BingDevils._

Miles stares at the notification. Then opens his texts and clicks on Steve’s name. 

_YOUR COMING TO TAMPA??_

_YEAH I JUST GOT THE CALL,_ Steve texts back almost instantly. 

_HOLY SHIT,_ Miles says. 

_I KNOW,_ Steve says, and then, _OK I GOTTA GO WOODY I NEED TO PACK I’LL SEE YOU LATER_

 _ok bye see you in tampa!!!!_ Miles replies. 

Steve texts back the sunglasses emoji, and Miles can’t stop smiling. 

\---

Game 1 doesn’t go in the Devils’ favor. They go down a few too many goals in the first half of the game, and they can’t quite make up the difference no matter how hard they try. And then the Bolts add in a few more goals just for good measure, and that’s the end of that. It’s a harsh reminder that, even though the Devils might have gotten the sweep in the regular season, Tampa is fucking _good,_ overflowing with explosive offense on all lines, and a fucking Vezina candidate in net to boot. The Devils might have made the playoffs, but they’re eons behind Tampa in terms of talent and skill, which sucks, but that’s just how it is. They’ve just gotta grit their teeth and play with everything they’ve got. It’s gotta count for something.

Game 2 ends much the same way. They leave the first period tied up at one, but the Devils choke hard in the second, giving up four Bolts goals in a row, and yeah, there isn’t much in the way of coming back from that, not when you need to score four goals on Andrei freaking Vasilevskiy just to get the game tied again.

So they leave Tampa down two in the series, which kind of fucking blows, but on the flight back to Newark, Steve pulls up Game of Thrones on his laptop and offers Miles an earbud.

“Wanna watch?” he asks, a little smile curling up at the corner of his mouth.

“Hell yeah I wanna watch,” Miles says.

“You better,” Steve says. “I’ve been fucking dying to know what’s gonna happen next, but _someone_ made me stop watching until we could watch it together even though he doesn’t even _pay attention_ to anything that happens…”

 

Yeah, they’re down 2-0, but Miles falls asleep on the plane with his face pressed against Steve’s shoulder for the first time in months, and everything feels right again.

\---

They land in Newark Saturday night, and Hynes tells them to get ready for an afternoon practice on Sunday. 

It feels good to be back in Jersey, back in his apartment instead of a hotel room, and the first thing Miles does when he gets back is flop face down on his bed and close his eyes for few minutes.

The next day, Miles picks up Steve before driving to practice, and it’s like —

“What’s got you smiling so much today?” Steve laughs.

“I dunno,” Miles says, smiling down at his hands. “Just a good day, I guess.”

 

Hynes keeps practice pretty light in terms of the intensity, tells them all to rest up and take it easy for the rest of the day.

“We’ve got a big game tomorrow, boys,” he says later in the locker room. “All of you better bring your fucking A-game.”

“Hey, you wanna come over and hang at my place?” Miles says after Hynes leaves.

“Like, now?” Steve says, leaning over to untie his skates.

“Yeah,” Miles says. “We can just chill a bit, play some chel, you know. Maybe get some takeout from that Chinese place for dinner?”

“Ooh, you mean the place with the really good spring rolls?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, that one.”

“Sounds good to me,” Steve says.

After they both shower and get dressed, Steve and Miles order their food in the car and drive over to pick it up before heading back to Miles’ apartment. They open up all the takeout boxes and dig in immediately, both of them ravenous after practice. Steve also cracks open a beer from the fridge.

Eventually, they migrate from the dining room to the living room floor to play some NHL, bringing their takeout boxes with them because they can. Miles shudders to think of how his mother would have thought about him eating on the floor, but hey, he’s got his own place, now. He can do what he wants.

They play NHL for a while, and Steve absolutely crushes him in almost every game, but somehow, Miles can’t even get mad.

“Man, you’re really in a good mood today, huh,” Steve says after he beats Miles 7-2. “Usually you’d have accused me of cheating at least five times by now.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Miles says, leaning back onto the couch behind him. “I don’t know, I guess I just — I really fucking missed you, man.” He looks down at his hands. “I missed this.”

“What do you mean, ‘this’?” Steve asks.

“Like just —” Miles waves his hand around. “Picking you up before practice, being your seat buddy on flights, just hanging around and having fun… I mean.” Miles shrugs, still looking down at his Xbox controller, because somehow, he can’t bring himself to look at Steve.

“You’re my best friend,” he says simply. “I missed you a lot.”

“I missed you too,” Steve says quietly, and when Miles finally looks up at him, it’s just Steve, his face lit up by the pale orange rays of the setting sun glancing through the windows, wearing an expression that Miles can’t quite decipher, except that his eyes are soft and sad and Miles doesn’t like it when Steve’s sad, and —

He doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he’s already there.

It’s like, not the best kiss ever, because Steve was still holding his Xbox controller and Miles can feel it jamming into his stomach, and also Steve’s mouth tastes like Chinese food and beer, which is, objectively, a little gross. 

And Steve’s not really kissing back, either, which Miles realizes very suddenly after a few seconds, and he starts to pull away, ready to run away somewhere and never show his face again, but then Steve grabs his collar and hauls him in close and — _oh._

 

You know, Miles has never really kissed a boy before.

He’s a little surprised to find that it isn’t much different than kissing a girl, but maybe he shouldn’t be. Kissing is still kissing no matter who it is you’re kissing, he guesses, except this time there’s Steve’s warm hands fisted in Miles’ shirt, except this time there’s Steve’s rough stubble scraping lightly against Miles’ lips, except this time it’s _Steve_ who’s under his mouth, under his hands, and _god._

He could die like this, he thinks, kissing Steven Santini on the floor of his apartment with NHL 17 idling on the TV and a bunch of empty takeout boxes littering the ground around them and it would all be worth it.

Eventually, Steve pulls away for a little air, and Miles follows him, chasing his lips.

“Miles,” Steve says.

“Mm,” Miles says, leaning forward until their foreheads are touching.

“I,” Steve says, then pauses. Swallows. “God, you can’t just do this to me, Miles.”

“Why not?” Miles asks.

“I just —” Steve stops, closes his eyes. “I like you so much,” he says. _“Fuck,_ I like you so much.”

Miles blinks. “Steve —”

“Like, it’s — it’s fucking stupid how much I like you, and I couldn’t — you can’t —”

“Oh, Steve,” Miles says, and he catches his lips with another kiss.

 

 

He doesn’t know how much time they spend, just lying there and kissing, but they do it until their lips are red and sore. After a while, Miles curls his head up against Steve’s chest, and Steve wraps an arm around him and pulls him closer.

“I like you a lot too,” Miles says against Steve’s collar, and he didn’t know it was true until he said it, but it is.

“Yeah you know, I figured,” Steve says. “Don’t think you’d kiss someone that much if you like, didn’t like them.”

Miles giggles into Steve’s shirt. “God,” he says. “Everything makes so much more sense now that I’ve figured it out. Why I wanted to be around you so much. Why I wanted to talk to you all the time. Why I missed you so fucking much when you got sent down —”

“Wait,” Steve says. “Woody. You just figured it out? You kissed me before you knew you liked me?”

“I kissed you before I even knew if I liked kissing guys,” Miles admits. 

“I — Christ, Miles,” Steve laughs. “If you didn’t know, then why did you do it?”

“I don’t know,” Miles says. “I wanted to.”

“God, you’re such a dumbass,” Steve says.

 _Your dumbass,_ Miles wants to say, but he doesn’t. That might be a little too much, right now. 

“But you like me,” he says instead. 

“... I _guess,”_ Steve says reluctantly, but Miles doesn’t even need to look at him to know that he’s smiling. 

Miles presses a kiss to the base of Steve’s neck. “You like me,” he says again, and he can’t stop the stupid grin that’s spreading across his face. 

“Yeah, I do,” Steve says softly, and Miles — god, Miles doesn’t think he’s ever been happier. 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://traviszajac.tumblr.com) \+ [twit](https://twitter.com/pavelzachas)


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